


We Rattle the Bars of Your Shrine

by Anam_Writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Almyra (Fire Emblem), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Sweethearts, F/M, Mentioned Sothis (Fire Emblem), Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22764973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anam_Writes/pseuds/Anam_Writes
Summary: Fate chose a little prince from Almyra and a small girl locked away in a tower by a dragon to break the world apart and start anew.And who is Claude to argue with fate when it gives him so lovely a friend to love?
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 88





	We Rattle the Bars of Your Shrine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evil_bunny_king](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_bunny_king/gifts).



> This has been taking forever!!! So I decided to break apart some of the chapters into two. 
> 
> I am not one to leave people waiting too long usually and I want to make sure this gets done and done well. So shorter chapters is the compromise I suppose!

He was constricted. Pinned between the bodies of his mother and a partly armoured stranger, Claude could not move. The whale bone construction of his mother’s bodice jabbed into his side with each jostle of the carriage and the armoured Fódlani huffed each time his small body was slammed full force into the steel plates adorning his shoulder.

“Maman,” he groaned. 

Sighing, his mother shifted. One strong arm braced his body close to her, dampening the nauseous ebb and flow of the contraption they were stuffed in. the other reached into her coat to pull out an empty flaxen bag. 

“If you must be sick do it in this,” she said. 

Claude nodded. He took the bag from her hands and hunched above it, opened at the drawstrings and ready in case.

“I’d never have thought any son of yours would be so delicate, Sister,” the man beside Claude laughed. 

The laugh was full and hearty. It shook his shoulder plates and Claude could feel the motion reverberate through the seat. He wanted to raise his head, defend himself or at least demand the man be still. The churn in his stomach at the thought of moving, however, bid him stay bowed and be quiet.

“He’s not,” She said. “He learned to ride and hit a target at an age long before you and I were doing the same. He’s just unaccustomed to this mode of travel.”

Claude narrowly catches a gag before he spills the contents of his breakfast. The taste of bile rises in his mouth all the same though. He spat.

The old man seated across from them - until now quiet and pointedly staring out the window, away from the boy - snorted. 

Claude glanced up. Sweat dripped down his brow from the heat of the crowded compartment. Matted with the oil of his flushed skin, his hair stuck to his forehead. His stomach rolled in his gut and he could feel his throat constricting with the effort to keep everything down. With all that he still managed to see that the upwards curl of the man’s top lip was the most disgusting thing about this ride. 

“Perhaps, dear Tiana, you should have left the boy in his country if he is so ill equipped for respectable means of transport.” The old man smiled. 

Claude imagined it was venom he was tasting on his tongue. The possibilities that would create.

“Or perhaps you should have let us ride alongside like we agreed in our letters, Father,” Claude’s mother hissed. Had he the energy Claude might have grinned. 

“And have my daughter riding with the guard like some knighted peasant or backwater noble?” He turned his nose, glaring out the window once more. “I think not.”

“Well, it hardly matters now,” the armoured man said. 

Claude perked at the sound of horns trumpeting in the distance. He looked up to his mother but her eyes were anchored to the angled profile of the old Fódlani lord and her face was as stone. Turning he met the eyes of the other Fódlani. 

He was smiling down at him, green eyes reflecting back the light from the windows. Like this Claude could almost recognize something familiar in him: green eyes like the pair he saw in the mirror, red hair long and curled like what his mother braided back. 

“We’re almost there,” he said. The man nodded towards the window on his side. “Would you like to see?”

Making a silent plea to the universe that this torturous box did not hit a hole in the road, Claude held the man’s arm as a brace, half standing. Careful as could be, he leaned out the window and looked ahead. There, looking like a fortress carved out of a mountain’s peak, stood Garreg Mach. 

...

The sun was perched on the highest point of the ancient structure by the time they entered the monastary’s gates. Their procession reorganized quickly, reminding Claude of a tactical drill, as the old lord stepped out of the carriage. 

His feet had hardly hit the ground before he was demanding an itinerary from the poor monk tasked with receiving them. 

“Your mother and I went to school here, you know,” the man said, turning towards Claude as the lord harped on outside. “With your mother’s permission I could show you the town if you like, maybe even pick up some sweets.”

He’d be interested in seeing the town. He knew what it was to walk the streets of Almyra’s cities, towns and villages. But, as he had come to know, Fodlan was a very different beast. Sons of kings, dukes and lords did not conduct their business with the rest. Were he to learn of this place and it’s people beyond what happened amongst old men in the stone carcasses of castles they did not build a tour of this pilgrim’s stop might be his best chance. 

“My thanks, Ser,” he gave a gentle decline of his head. 

“How many times must I say that Uncle Louis will do?” He laughed, shaking his head and climbing out of the carriage. 

Claude watched as he went to stand at the old man’s flank. The two had a similar manner about them. He shared a way of carrying his shoulders with the lord, a way of nodding his head without lowering it. 

Uncle Louis would not do anymore than Grandfather would.

Claude turned at the light push of a hand on his back. “Out. Stand by the carriage while I speak to Duke von Riegan.”

Claude followed his mother’s instructions. As she went to stand at the old man’s other side he surveyed the area. 

The courtyard was covered in ashy brown dirt with cobblestone running down the centre leading up to large steps and a great, ornate door. Tucked into a corner in an alcove of the yard were folded wood components that looked much like the mobile merchant stands found in Almyran markets

Was this a commercial hub when not in use for reception?

He looked upwards last. A balcony hung above them. No one stood there now but, were it anything like the construction of the palace back home, Claude guessed it was connected to a place where the bishops and their "goddess" convene so that they might view the gates when needed. 

He imagined it might have just as nice a view of the stars as the balcony in his homeland. 

Claude was broken from his observance by a tap on his shoulder. An acolyte had come up beside him. Her smile was wide as she bent her knees to speak at his level. 

"Do you speak common?" she asked. 

Claude's eyes darted towards his mother, hoping the approach of a stranger might catch her attention. She had failed to notice as she listened, pensive at her father's side, to the monk.

"Yes," he answered. 

"We have rooms in the servants' quarters for the attending of the Duke," she said, taking a hold of his shoulder. "If you would follow me."

Claude jumped back from her attempts. "My mother-"

"Is she a maid?" the acolyte tilted her head, blinking wide eyes at him. "I'm sure she's with the rest of the guests' staff then. Please, won't you-"

A gloved hand took her firmly by the wrist. 

"He's mine," his mother said. 

Her gaze was hard. Guarded as she had been since they'd crossed the border Claude had not seen her so frigid in her glare yet. Even with that gaze turned in his favour Claude could not help but gulp.

"My Lady," she bowed low, first to his mother, then him, then his mother again. "My deepest apologies. I was not thinking."

"Go," his mother said.

The acolyte scurried off, fright in her gait as she went towards the alley at the entrance's west.

"She just made a mistake," Claude said.

"Fódlan - Garreg Mach especially - is not to be underestimated," his mother said. Her eyes that matched his so well finally looked at him. Steel turned hot, fierce, pliable in her demeanor. "It's no less dangerous than the court in Almyra. They'll make a thousand little mistakes meant to break you down bit-by-bit. They want to send a message: we're not welcome here."

Claude looked down, kicking his feet in the dirt. 

"She saw you come from the carriage with the rest of the Duke's family. I saw her face in the reception assembly," she went on. "This was calculated. If I had to guess some higher up in the church asked this of her." 

His mother had told him to anticipate these sorts of happenings. All the same, the lengths of it made his head ache. How was he meant to see all the little needles flying out to barb him? These tactics seemed overblown for the satisfaction of making a child squirm. 

Claude missed home already. All he had to fear was his blades and his would be butchers. In Almyra they had the decency to announce their intent.

"Duke von Riegan and Louis are going to meet with the other leaders gathered to dine," his mother said, the tense coil of her spine loosening somewhat as she relayed the plans. 

His head shot up. 

"We'll get to meet the King of Faerghus and the Adrestian Emperor then?" Claude asked. 

"Later," his mother chuckled. Her hand raised. Her fingers ran through his thick black waves of hair and scratched at his scalp. "I'm worried you won't be able to hold your lunch down if you eat now. Besides, it's been a longer journey for us than it's been for anyone else. We should rest."

Were it his father he'd have protested. The worst case scenario would put him carried away like a sack of grain. But his mother's ire was a dangerous thing and, though she almost smiled at his enthusiasm now, this continent and its people had put her in a foul mood.

Claude followed at his mother’s heel down the reception hall and up winding stairs to the quarters prepared for him. 

...

In his dreams Claude was small: lungs the size of pears, heart as big as a crab apple. And the shadows were big, the air was thick. He could feel it sitting at the bottom of his chest and turning to foam, coming up his throat and spilling out of him. 

When he woke, his brow was damp and his eyes watering. He shook against a steady hand lying on his back. 

"Claude," his mother said. His breath quivered as he turned to look at her, sitting beside him on the bed. A mess of frizzy red hair was let out of her plaits. She was in her hunting clothes for comfort rather than the lady's garments her father had forced her into. She felt sturdy when she wrapped her arms around him. "Bad dreams?"

He nodded. 

"Rest comes fast but not easy," she said before giving his shoulder a pat and releasing him. Claude watches her rise from his bed and stand straight. "I get them too."

The pride she holds herself with always makes him doubt that she could find a dream scary. 

"What time is it?" Claude asks. 

"Time to be ready for supper," she answered. "I was coming to wake you anyways."

"Supper," he murmurs. 

"Yes," he cannot see his mother but he hears her opening up the latches on his luggage before rummaging through his clothes. "It will be small, just Rhea and the royalty she's hosting. Very formal, however."

He had to remind himself of the difference between Fódlan's formalities and Almyra's. Even as the grandson of a Duke and the Crown Prince of Almyra he would have little sway. Grown men bowed to him and leaned in to hear him speak at formal gatherings back home. It would not be so here. 

"Wait," he sat up in a hurry, eyes wide and some of the burning water still shedding from his eyes. "So the King and Emperor will be there?"

His mother chuckled. "Yes."

Quick as he could Claude flung himself from the bed. 

"Careful, boy," she gave a hearty laugh. "I'm not sure I was ever so excited to go to a buttoned up dinner at your age. Remember, these things aren't like feasts; they're not fun."

"I know," said, being quick finding appropriate dress for the occasion from the approved clothing he'd had packed by Lord Riegan's staff. "But Baba gave me a mission."

Tiana hummed thoughtfully. "Alright then. I wish you luck."

He smiled up at her. "Who needs luck?"

…

The reception dinner for the greatest men of Fódlan was exactly as his mother implied it would be: dull. The presence of children his own age did nothing to alleviate that. They sat solemn and polite. The old adage about being seen and not heard his mother had mentioned came to mind. He had not realized how exacting that metric was until that night. 

The Emperor's heir was a little girl named Edelgard. She was unremarkable in appearance - brown hair, brown eyes, pigtails. Had it not been for the ghastly frills they had stuffed the child into Claude would not be able to tell her apart from a commoner's daughter running about a market. 

And the boy Dimitri, was small, frail. He looked made of porcelain and his eyes were wide with the panicked edge of inlaid glass Claude saw in the skulls of dolls. 

The leader's bragged briefly of their children's stunning accomplishments. Edelgard was intelligent beyond all measure and already so ambitious. Dimitri could bend a steel sword with his bare hands. 

"I'm told the boy can ride," the Duke said of Claude, and it was left at that. 

When the dessert wine was served and the cakes laid out Claude's mother took him by the hand. "If you'll excuse us, Lady Rhea. But the journey has been long and I think it would be best for him to have a good rest before he's presented to Her Grace tomorrow."

"There is no need for concern about appearances," the Lady Rhea smiled. "The Goddess' eyes do not cast judgement. Regardless, if you feel your child must rest then I wish you a good night and him sweet dreams."

Claude bowed like he practiced and Lady Rhea's eyes crinkled when she smiled. Her gaze was cast to him and he thought for a second that she may not be so terrifying as his mother had told him. 

When he shared the sentiment with her on the way back to their rooms she looked down to her feet. Fleeting was the second that his mother looked afraid. She feared little but stuck in memories of her past sometimes, that emotion she'd left at her back would chase after her. 

"Be careful, mon cher," she told him. "Your worst enemies here are the quickest to smile."

...

Claude tried to sleep that night. He really, really did. But between the ringing of his mother's words in his ear and the nagging pinch of his mission in his mind Claude was kept wide awake, staring at the ceiling. His father had asked him to come to know his mother's homeland - same as he knew Almyra. With each second passing not only did Claude learn little; he felt he knew less. 

A smile was a threat and swords were safety. Faith was a weapon and power a defense. The less he knew the more in danger he was and yet knowledge seemed a razor's edge to walk on. The Archbishop, who had smiled, wished him sweet dreams and made nothing of his pigment was his enemy. The man who spat at him when his mother wasn't looking and called him mutt was his ally. This land was backwards and upside down and it sent him reeling worse than the carriage had. 

A heavy snort interrupted his thoughts. His mother laid on her side, back to him in the bed. And she was asleep. Deep into sleep. She wouldn't be snoring otherwise. 

Claude shimmied his body from the bed in his room. His mother had insisted on staying with him for safety's sake but he doubted she'd considered he'd sneak off. Usually he wouldn't; he was smarter than that. 

But the stars called to the unsure boy and his father's voice read back his mission to him over and over in the back of his mind. 

So Claude did something stupid.

He slipped into his soft leather shoes, padded down the stairs and crossed into the garden to look at the sky.

But it was not the night sky that caught Claude's eye that night. It was not the flowers blooming in moonlight or the spires of the monastery. 

Tonight Claude would cease his whispering of prayers to the stars. Tonight, Claude would meet his God.

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of some big dumb childhood sweethearts, destiny pining is up ahead. 
> 
> Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
